


Tomorrow sometimes happens when you aren't looking.

by millygal



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Sweet, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, families come in all shapes and sizes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 03:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12099807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: Families come in all shapes and sizes, with lots of curvy wiggly lines.





	Tomorrow sometimes happens when you aren't looking.

**Author's Note:**

> So wasn't expecting this to pop out my Muse' ass today, but it did, and here it is ;) Written as a sequel to Tomorrow? which was set after the end of season four of Sherlock. This is, well, I like it, a lot! Thank you as always to my faithful guide through all grammatical errors and characterisation issues, jj1564, loves on you! <3
> 
> Sequel to [Tomorrow?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11180676)

The first rays of far too bright morning sunshine sneak in under the badly hung blinds covering Molly’s bedroom window, and she wonders exactly _how_ she ended up **here**. The bed she’s currently snuggled up in once belonged to a man who now sleeps quite contentedly with the world’s most infuriating consulting detective, and she somehow inherited it after he made the move from flatmate to life partner.

John didn’t hang that label on the relationship, Sherlock did, and the first time he said it out loud everyone in the room almost fell over laughing. He pronounced it with such pride and professionalism that the people lounging on the sofa and sitting cross legged on the floor were torn between full blown guffaws and wanting to salute and applaud the announcement.

Buried beneath covers and pillows that give some small protection from the sounds of life slowly seeping into the corners of 221b, Molly offers up a wan smile to the universe, and contemplates when exactly she took a sideways step into genuine insanity.

Turns out tomorrow is a far less vague concept when there’s a child involved.

One day you’re telling Sherlock to suck it up and be a man, the next you’re caught up in birthday parties and christenings, and holding the baby whilst the newly-mated maniacs you call best friends are taking to the dance floor and steadfastly ignoring the wolf whistles of their nearest and dearest.

Molly might not be in a relationship in the conventional sense, but she’s no less of a partner to Sherlock and John, she’s no less of a mother to Rosie, whom she’s fallen so deeply in love with it’s like playing, “Where’s your nose?”, with her own flesh and blood.

Sherlock’s distinctive chuckle wafts under her closed bedroom door and Molly can’t help the affection in her heart expanding outwards, creeping along her nerve endings until it’s forcing the corners of her lips upwards and a few stray tears from her still closed eyes.

John clearly loved Mary with everything he had, but when she passed away, when she left a gaping hole in his life that couldn’t be filled with softly spoken platitudes and awkwardly offered sorrow; Sherlock simply found a way to plug the hole, fill the gap, patch over the hurt with a chance at something strange, new and beautiful.

Molly’s never braved asking, because quite frankly she doesn’t _need_ the mental image, but she’s always been curious as to how they finally took that step, stopped being lovers in all but the physical act and moved onto raving Satyrs who seem to enjoy getting caught all over the damned flat.

Molly remembers the day she found out they were shagging like rabbits, and despite the sting in her eyes and burn at the back of her throat, it made complete sense.

Sherlock Holmes is not what you’d call normal, in fact he’d probably curse you out for even contemplating insulting him like that, but there was a serious amount of normalcy to the look of utter embarrassment on his face when Molly opened the door to the living room and found him curled around John like a limpet.

It helped soften the blow somewhat, to think that for all his high and mighty ideas about himself and his impossible intelligence levels, he still felt simple _embarrassment_ for being caught with his tongue in his best friend’s mouth.

It wasn’t John who stuttered and stumbled and almost fell on his arse trying to untangle himself, it was Sherlock, who coughed a few times, straightened his quite clearly finger crumpled shirt, and ducked his head like a chided child.

Molly will be forever grateful for John rolling his eyes, winking at her and slapping Sherlock upside the head before walking past him and offering her tea. “Cuppa, Molly? Ignore _His Infuriatingness_ , he’s incapable of everyday emotions. Give him a minute, he’ll find his voice.”

That jibe coupled with Molly’s lack of flushed cheeks seemed to bring Sherlock back to himself, but he did have the good grace to stand in front of her for a minute and whisper, “I’m sorry.”

She’d simply blown out a breath, reached up, and patted him on the head like a loyal dog. “It’s okay, Sherlock, in all fairness it’s about bloody time. I was starting to wonder if you’d spend the rest of your life mooning after him.”

“I don’t _moon_.”

“Okay.”

“I **don’t**.”

“How often do you shoot holes in the wall when John’s here?”

“I - “

“How many cracks in the mantle because he hasn’t been here to keep you occupied?”

“But, that isn’t - “

“How long did you spend laying on the damned sofa staring at John’s empty chair?”

“Fine, fine, I _moon_. Don’t tell Greg. And don’t tell him I know his actual name, either.”

“Secret’s safe with me, Mr Holmes.”

After that they’d all fallen into a routine of Molly constantly being there and taking part in the day to day life of a wonderfully unconventional family. It was only after she’d been sleeping in the now spare room for a month, John pointed out she may as well stay, because who else would put up with running Sherlock on a weekly basis or his vile experiments stagnating in the fridge.

To Sherlock’s credit, he’d ignored the exchange long enough for John and Molly to giggle at each other and hammer out the fine print of the situation, and then he’d stood, cleared his throat, offered her his hand to welcome her to the family with a small smile and awkward hug.

“Don’t think you’re redecorating. I like the bullet holes.”

~~~~~~~~~

Having finally emerged from her room, Molly watches John try and teach Sherlock, again, how to fasten a nappy, and has to chew on the inside of her cheek when the supposedly high IQ’d detective triumphantly lifts Rosie into the air, only for the darling girl to coo, gurgle, and pee on his tie as the nappy slips straight off of her little bowed legs.

“Seriously, it’s not rocket science, Mr I’m-Too-Clever-For-Words. Are you being rubbish on purpose, just so you don’t have to change her bloody nappy?”

Sherlock spots Molly hovering in the corner and clears his throat before effecting a completely innocent look. “I am not exactly what you would call equipped for child care and all its attendant tasks. Perhaps I’m just no good at nappies.”

“And perhaps you’re a master of knowing how not to get asked to do something again.”

Molly rolls her eyes, snorts, and goes about her morning chores. Fixing breakfast, drinking that first delicious cup of tea - having already checked for stray body parts in all the mugs - she thinks to herself even if this is genuine insanity, it’s much better than living a boring perfectly balanced life, and who wants conventional, anyway?

Conventional isn’t being woken in the middle of the night to look after a gorgeous baby girl whilst your best friends chase down potential serial killers, and no amount of conventional will ever replace the happiness she feels whilst observing Sherlock trying to raise a child and not scar the poor kid for the rest of her life.

Fuck conventional.

Molly just hopes they can deal with adding a member to the strange little family they’ve built.

With that in mind, she takes her phone from her pocket and taps out a quick text.

_We still on for tonight?_

_Of course, did you tell the Tweedles?_

_No, where would the fun be in that?_

_You’re evil, you’ve been spending far too much time with Sherlock. Have a good day at work, and don’t forget to invite me in. Greg x._

 

Fin - for now.


End file.
